by Dianne Drake
“In between my many social engagements I did manage to medicate the people who needed it. No one’s in need of being hospitalized, and I did have a talk with Ben Smiling about proper meat preparation and storage. I also looked in on someone named Dalakaduk who’s recovering from a broken leg quite nicely. I upped her exercise regime by half and told her to walk more. She’s being a bit sluggish about that, which puts her at risk for blood clots, so I explained the complications that could set in and convinced her to do more of her own housework now instead of having her children do it all. And she was agreeable. But I would suggest that you look in on her again in another couple of weeks to make sure she’s following doctor’s orders because I think she’s been enjoying the life of leisure.”
“Are you implying that I didn’t give her good instruction?” Alek snapped.
“Actually, I know that you did. She told me exactly what you’d prescribed for her, but she also told me that it was easier not doing what she was supposed to.”
“And you convinced her to get up and move about?” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that?”
Pulling off his mittens, he snapped his own fingers, only harder, for emphasis. “More like that. She’s stubborn, like you. Doesn’t give in easily to friendly persuasion, either.”
“So what did you do?”
“Smiled when I asked. And bribed her kiddies not to wait on her so much. After that, I checked on the bunions of someone named Chug Buckner, a referral from Dalakaduk. Apparently, Chug is her father, and he’s had these outrageous bunions on his feet for—”
“Chuglak,” Alek corrected. “Not Chug.” A nickname was reserved for only the closest of friends, and in the local tradition a person’s name was not to be taken lightly. That little bit of tradition had started well over a century ago at a time when the early settlers had been moving in and changing the names of the villagers to more understandable, pronounceable Anglicized names. Because so many of the people here still bore the tales, somewhat sadly, of what their names had once been and how they had been changed, she was always careful to be respectful. “His name is Chuglak.”
“Chuglak, who likes to be called Chug, apparently. At least, that’s what he told me when he asked me to call him Chug. Oh, and I pulled Aryeh Tillion’s tooth, by the way. It was a referral from Chug, his cousin. Aryeh had a nasty little infection going on in a back molar and asked if I would do the honors of yanking it for him, so I did.”
“You pulled his tooth? With what?” This was incredible. In the dozen times she’d seen Chuglak Buckner for his aching bunions he’d never once asked her to call him Chug. As for Aryeh Tillion’s tooth, she’d been trying to pull it for months, but he’d always refused, always told her it was getting better.
“I used what I had handy. A pair of pliers and a fifth of whiskey. That’s all it took, and it was quite easy, actually. Came right on out after a couple of tugs, nice and clean, root intact, Aryeh so liquored up he’s still probably waiting for me to have a go at it.”
“You can’t do that!” she snapped, inching her way over to the fire—on the opposite side of the stove from where he was standing. “I mean, how could you just…just get him drunk and pull his tooth? There are medical boundaries, even up here, Doctor.”
“Medical boundaries you forced me into when you slowed down enough to allow me to follow you all the way to Beaver Dam. And you did slow down, Alek. You can’t deny that, since I’ve seen the way you really drive. So you did want me here, and that’s the same as opening up those boundaries for me. As far as Aryeh was concerned, what was I supposed to do? Walk away from him when he was begging me to have a yank on his tooth?” Michael bent down to lay the bag with the pie on the floor, then he pulled off his boots, saying at the same time, “I didn’t come here to work, Dr. Sokolov, but that’s where you put me in spite of the way you keep squawking about it, and I’m doing a damn fine job of it under the circumstances, so get off the sour attitude, will you? Or get yourself out there and do it all by yourself. Which, actually, Annabelle Donawiak is waiting for you to do first thing tomorrow morning.” Standing back up, he gave the bag with the pie a little nudge with his toe, scooting it over closer to her side of the stove. “Jeannie, her fourteen year-old daughter, is moaning around with a good case of mittelschmerz, so I told her to use an ice pack for the night and that I’d send you over in the morning to explain it.”
“Mittelschmerz?” Alek shook her head incredulously. The man was superhuman. He’d had a run at every medical problem in the village, and been a smashing success at it.
“Mittelschmerz. You know, ovarian pain in mid-menstrual cycle. Lower abdomen, lasts about half a day then goes away for a month. And, yes, before you ask, without a pelvic exam, which I wasn’t equipped to do out here, I diagnosed mittelschmerz from the symptoms and history. Perfectly acceptable under the circumstances, especially since Annabelle thought it might be food poisoning. But Jeannie hadn’t eaten any of the stew and after a little chat, and figuring out the dates—and I did palpate her belly—I decided mittelschmerz was as likely as anything. But I didn’t prescribe anything. You’ll need to get her into the stirrups and have a look before you decide what to do.”
“You didn’t happen to cut anybody open while you were at it, did you? Remove a gall bladder or an appendix I should know about? How about a little heart surgery or a hip replacement?”
“I shaved Chug Buckner’s bunions, which, I suppose, is technically minor surgery.” He pulled off his parka and slung it over a chair. “Thanks for clearing me a path home, by the way. I had a couple of offers to stay elsewhere, but I really did want to come back to the place where I was the least wanted.” He gave her a huge grin. “Keeps a man like me humble, you know. Humble and in his place.”
“What would you know about humility? And especially about being kept in your place?” There was nothing humble at all about Michael Morse, especially on that day he’d called her out in front of the class for being wrong about how to manage a simple cold-water trauma. He’d said, “You there, in the back row. True or false? A conscious victim suffering hypothermia due to a cold-water immersion shouldn’t be required to assist in their own rescue or ambulate once they are out of the water.” Which was true, because that kind of activity did increase the likelihood of ventricular fibrillation. But she’d thought he’d said that a cold-water victim should assist and ambulate, and so she’d answered False. Michael had immediately informed the class that the student in the back row had killed her patient. “You should never allow your patient to assist, or ambulate afterward, because that could cause them to go into V-fib and die. Which is what your patient did. He died because his inept physician didn’t know the correct procedure.”
“But I thought you said—” she’d started to argue.
“If you’d been listening properly, you’d know what I said,” he interrupted, “then your theoretical patient wouldn’t be dead. I hope you listen better to your live patients, Doctor, because if you don’t, you’ll be leaving quite a body count in your wake.”
Her temper had flared and she would have argued the point, but he had moved on to an in-depth discussion of the topic so quickly, she had been left to slink down in her seat, take notes and hope the flush of humiliation passed quickly. When he’d ended the class for the day, he’d gotten away before she’d had a chance to chase him down and tell him what an impolite pile of moose droppings he was.
That had been abject humiliation at its worst. And to top it off, even as he’d stridden off the stage, her heart had still skipped a beat. Love, hate, or even love-hate…she didn’t understand it, but it didn’t matter, anyway. Class ended in another week, and she’d never have to see the jerk again. But the very next day on her way into class, he’d smiled at her as if nothing had happened, and her heart had done that same, stupid lurch as she’d taken her same seat in the back row.
“What do I know about humility?” he said, as he pulled off his boots then threw his backpack over nex
t to the fire. “You know, Alek, you take yourself far too seriously. Life’s too short to go about in a snit all the time. And it’s a pity, because underneath all the grouchiness I think you might have a nice smile, if you’d ever care to use it.”
“I’m not in a snit all the time, Michael. Only the time spent with you.”
“Damn, I sure wish I knew what I did to make such a bad impression on you. And I’m beginning to wish you’d made the same bad impression on me so we’d at least be equal in this battle. But you’ve got the advantage, Alek. You know what I did and I don’t.” He tossed her a devilish wink. “And if I owe you an apology, I’ll be more than happy to extend it just as soon as you do me the courtesy of telling me what I did to deserve so much of your wrath.”
“Not wrath so much as wariness, Michael. You deserve my wariness and, trust me, I am wary.”
“Wariness with a great big frown line between your eyes. And it’s not becoming, because you have eyes that were meant to sparkle and shine, but in some way I don’t believe they do that so much, do they? And it has nothing to do with me.”
“And how is that any of your business?”
“It’s not. But your attitude toward me is, and I helped myself to a little further comment.”
“Look, Michael. Since we’re stranded here together for the night, can’t we just agree to disagree, and leave it at that? Skip the small talk, don’t bother about the arguments, avoid the taunting and simply agree that we won’t?”
“Except that you’re the only one disagreeing here, which can’t be much fun, putting yourself through something like that when you don’t have to. I mean, with the way you’re acting, if anyone here should be disagreeable, it’s me.” He drew in a deep sigh and let it out slowly. “But it’s not worth it. Trust me. I learned the hard way that life’s too short and there are so many more pleasurable things to do than be disagreeable.”
Alek watched him walk over to the woodstove, his strides casual, then sit down cross-legged on the wooden floor in front of it. “But some people warrant disagreeable,” she argued. He was so comfortable here—he fit in perfectly and naturally, and got along so well. Much better than she did, actually. And she did try, but she simply wasn’t good at it the way he was. Even on her best day, which this was not. “So why are you here, Michael?” she asked, trying not to sound too curious about it, even though she was.
“Looking for gasoline. I believe that was the original reason, wasn’t it? Desperate man stranded out on the lonely road, lost, low on gas. Beautiful woman comes along and spirits him away to this exotic location for a night of fun, passion and medical diagnosis in exchange for a can of gas. And, trust me, I’d prefer the gas over the fun and passion.” He pulled Alahseey’s pie from the bag and sat the plastic container on the floor. “Wouldn’t mind a good coffee right about now, though.”
“And you expect me to make it?”
“I’d like for you to join me after I make it, since with your temper I’m not sure what I’d find my cup spiked with.”
“There’s some instant in the cupboard,” she said stiffly. “And I suppose this piece of pie is large enough for the two of us to share,” she continued, more out of politeness than actually wanting to share anything with him. But a vision of the two of them with one slice of pie to share did flash through her mind. Nice, pleasant thought. Cozy, intimate…Talk about emotions betraying common sense!
What was all that about, anyway?
Instantly Alek looked to see if he was paying attention to her, and when she caught him smiling, she cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders and scooted further around the stove so he wouldn’t see her quite so well.
“I appreciate the offer to share,” he said, “even though I’m not sure it was really a genuine offer, judging from the scowl on your face now. But I’ve already had more than my share.”
“Yes, you have, haven’t you?” she said flatly, noticing that her voice was a bit wobbly. Red face, wobbly voice. Not good!
“And you’re really not going to tell me what this is about, in case I need to make amends, are you?” After pouring the water from the faucet into a small tin coffeepot, Michael placed it on the stove then sat back down with her. “Can I guess, though?”
“Nothing to guess,” she said, scooting away from him.
“And to think I missed being on a nice, warm beach for all this.” He spread his arms in a wide, sweeping gesture. “Maui would have been good, I think. Right now I would be warm. Half-naked, too. And drinking one of those tropical drinks with lots of fruit and a paper umbrella in it. Ogling the bikinis, of course. Wouldn’t be very sporting of me not to ogle them, would it?”
Alek laughed in spite of not wanting to. He tried hard to be nice. She had to give him credit. The bigger her fuss, the harder he tried to charm his way in. So maybe it was just a game for him. Or maybe he was genuinely appealing and this wasn’t put on. Whatever the case, he played his end of it well, and she could see why people succumbed to him. He was easy to succumb to, and, as staunch as she was about detesting him, she was beginning to find it difficult to hold her attitude for long stretches. Especially when he was inching his way over to her, brandishing that dratted custard pie. “Ogling the bikinis I can believe,” she said, trying not to relax too much, “but I don’t picture you as the type who would want a paper umbrella. I think maybe one of those little plastic swords like a pirate might carry would suit you better. Skewer lots of sour fruit with it.” She wrinkled her nose and laughed, in spite of herself.
“Not a sword. I like the symbolism of a paper umbrella. It means you’re on holiday, doing something you wouldn’t normally do. And judging from your inhospitable reaction to me, it would seem that you would think I might be inclined to the sword on a regular basis, so it absolutely has to be the paper umbrella. No exceptions.”
“We do have those paper umbrellas in Alaska, you know.”
“Yes, but it’s not the same when they have little icicles hanging off them. And you really don’t have much in the way of good bikini weather here at this time of the year, either.” He scooted the pie, centimeter by centimeter, in her direction. “And gooseflesh just doesn’t look all that good in a bikini, in my opinion.”
This was a pleasant chat, she decided. Of course, she was still on her guard. Pleasant was one thing, but the real Michael Morse was something else altogether, and she couldn’t forget that because she’d already experienced what came after pleasant. “Bikinis and paper umbrellas notwithstanding, why did you come to Alaska if you really wanted Maui?”
“To find my mother,” he replied quite simply.
That hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear. “She’s lost?”
“In a way, I suppose. My dad died a year ago and she’s only now beginning to get over the trauma of it.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, instinctively laying her hand atop his and giving it a squeeze. “It takes so long to get over something like that, and I do know how difficult that can be. The little memories that pop right in when you don’t expect them, the simple things reminding you, things that are always there, that you can’t escape. Sights, sounds, even smells…” She stopped when she realized her hand was still on his, and that she was allowing him into a place she allowed no one. Jerking back her hand like a toddler who’d touched a hot stove, she tucked it into her pocket. “I’m sorry for your loss, and for your mother’s,” she whispered, staring into the fire, trying to regain her usual starched composure. “So how did she get here?”
“I suggested that she take a cruise, and she did. Of course, when I mentioned a cruise I assumed it would be to someplace tropical, or maybe to the Mediterranean. But for whatever her reason, which she didn’t explain to me, she came to Alaska instead. Then somewhere along the way, and I don’t really know the proper sequence of all this, she went to work for a man who managed to intrigue her, and now he’s taking advantage of her while she’s still so vulnerable, after forty years with my father. Probably
robbing her of every penny she has, too.”
“How awful,” Alek gasped. Then it dawned on her that Michael was not here to work in Dimitri’s clinic after all. Being on the road when he was had been a coincidence, and suddenly she felt horrible about dragging him here with his mother in danger when all he wanted was the quickest way to find her. “I’m so sorry about the way I’ve acted, Michael. I think I’ve made a terrible mistake about you.” Which didn’t alter the fact that she still didn’t like him. But she did allow that a man like Michael Morse could have an affectionate spot for his mother.
He gave her his best casual grin, the one she was already getting used to, as he poured the hot water over the instant coffee grounds then handed her the steaming mug. “Apology accepted. So now, tell me what you’re sorry for.”
“I thought you were here to work. When I saw you out on the road, and realized who you were, I assumed you were the one who—”
“You assumed I’d given up wilderness teaching to do wilderness doctoring.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Believe me, if I had, you’d have scared me away.”
She did deserve that comment, after all. And she wasn’t even going to argue with him over it. “Well, I was wrong, and I apologize. So, send me a bill for your services, because I certainly intend on paying—”
“All I want is a tank of gasoline,” he interrupted. “That’s it. One tank, and a map to Elkhorn, then we’ll call it even.” He poured himself a cup of coffee, then took a sip. “And it hasn’t been a horrible experience. Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed it more. The people are nice, and it’s always good to get practical field experience to go along with my teaching.”
“But you like city life better.”
He shrugged. “It’s what I do, but I don’t mind going out on a good rescue every now and then. Even if it’s only food poisoning. It’s a nice change, and if I weren’t looking for my mother…”
